Caturday

Slept like hell last night and NEED to hit the Y early. There’ll be NO fucking around, reading in bed all morning for me today. I want veggie crepes and a huge mug of dark Italian roast coffee with a splash of coconut milk though.

Why must I go to the gym no later than 10? It’s Saturday—the joint gets jammed. Any later and the place will be overrun by the maskless, possibly COVID infested, masses.

Another kvetch, I’m tired of reading about Taylor Swift and her sportsballing beau. Are the right wing douchebuckets really having WAH-I’m-desperately-insecure incel hissy fits because a pretty country singer (and billionaire businesswoman) is dating a “tight end?” I understand that it’s fun to mock the perpetually aggrieved MAGAts but…ya know, bored now.

Can the press, the media move on to something/someone else? How about 24/7 coverage of the Ingenuity Mars Helicopter or the 350 million-year-old tree fossils recently unearthed in Canada or maybe the 19th century shipwreck that recently washed up on the coast of Newfoundland? 

I mean, doesn’t that sound more interesting than the bizarre whinging of men (who, with a pocket full of Benjamins, would still go home alone) about pop stars and footballers?

Alright, enough kvetching. Time to don my sneaks and head out the door.

Goat to Self